A Change of Bodies
by Illa Darling
Summary: Courfeyrac tells a story about two men who accidentally switch bodies while their passions, their ideals, remain the same as ever. Those two men happen to be Marius Pontmercy and Monsieur Enjolras... Can Enjolras play the dreamy lover? Can Pontmercy rally the people? While playing each other's parts, the two men come to new, surprising realizations. Eventual E/E and M/C.
1. Part One

**A/N: Hello everybody! Here's a little story for your pleasure. It will probably come in two to three parts only. I hope you enjoy! (By the way, Etienne means "crowned".) :D **

Two Ideals, Two Men, Two Bodies

Switched

Part One: The Casting of Characters

Bonjour. I would like to tell you a story, a story that I find rather interesting. Of course, you already know what it is about. Two men, two very different men with different passions and different characters, swap places. By this I mean they swap bodies and bodies alone, while their characters and their passions remain as they had been.

And as you can see, this is all very interesting.

My name, friend, is Etienne Courfeyrac. Heaven knows why my mother named me Etienne. I live in a little tenement that is crumbling to pieces. My own room consists of a mattress and a desk that has been covered with so many papers and books that I no longer remember what the surface looks like. I have a little bread and milk for breakfast, a little bread and milk for dinner, and a little bread without the milk for supper. Heaven knows why my mother named me Etienne.

There is one particular thing in my poor, dull life that shines like the faint light of my candle amidst the darkness of my apartment; that happens to be the hours I spend in the Café Musain.

Here, I enjoy the company of friends, various types of friends: students, drunkards, rich young men, fanmakers. We are all united in a single purpose: revolution (I don't think I have to explain to you what that means. I would rather you tell me if the word made you shudder, laugh, or made you feel nothing at all). Well, that is all you need to know. I would rather not get into details about just what our little revolution is all about. Ask one of the King's men and he would spit out such words as "treacherous" or "seditious". Ask one of the Friends of the ABC, and he will begin talking and never stop talking, so that you will have to miss all three of your meals just because of one question. Out of this long, long speech, you will perhaps catch such words as "freedom" or "equality".

That is only one-eighth of a speech I would have made had you asked me about the word "revolution".

Here is how the story began:

I was on my way to the Café Musain after a hearty breakfast of milk and bread with a certain friend of mine, Marius Pontmercy. He's a nice fellow, a little shy and a little quiet, but friendly nonetheless.

The first time I saw him, he was sitting near a fountain, reading a book. There was something restless about him; despite the quiet black eyes intent upon their manuscript, the complete attention he had in this large book in his hands—so absorbed was he that I thought I could see the wheels in his brain turning round with sparks of interest and fixation—despite all this, I could see the restless hand that ran up his thick, black hair continually and the licking of his dry, full lips every now and then.

I saw immediately that this man was in need of something, and I wanted to give him that something. But I had to know the man before I could discover what he was lacking.

So I stepped forward.

"What are you doing, Monsieur?" I asked him.

"Sitting here."

"Why?"

"I have no place to stay."

"What are you?"

"I'm a student of the law."

"You seem very decent, Monsieur."

At this he shrugged and said, "I am a decent person, I suppose."

I laughed and asked him if he might want to join me for dinner. This led to my offer of a little apartment in which he could stay. "It's a bit small and there aren't much people living there but it's better than nothing." He readily agreed and a hearty friendship followed.

It was with this man that I walked to the Café Musain.

"Really, Marius, you shouldn't be so reserved!" I was saying, "You should be more happy, more passionate!"

"Passionate about what?" he asked timidly.

"Well, passionate about… about life! You should be passionate about at least one thing, you know. Love? You are young, you are handsome! And there are many beautiful French women here in Paris! It is the city of love, no? Is there someone you know? Someone you consider more than a friend?"

He blushed and replied in the negative.

"Hum! You are an odd young man! Perhaps religion? No. That is not for you. Or law? Do you enjoy being a law student?"

"I suppose so."

"You don't sound very convincing. You see, my young friend, you need passion. And _that_ is why I'm bringing you to meet these fellows."

"Who are they again?"

"Oh, a group of young men who love to talk and relive history in all its glories!" I replied mysteriously.

We entered the building from the back.

Voices reached my ears. I could instantly tell whose voice belonged to which person. There was that familiar, drunk, deep voice that was sharp and loud. That would be Grantaire, our own dear skeptic, the only one of his kind among our sort. There was Combeferre's serious, matter-of-fact voice, and the little, bold voice that belonged to the child Gavroche, who symbolized our glorious revolution! Jehan's quiet, timid voice; Joly's tattling, methodical voice; and oh! there was that voice that belonged to Enjolras!

Enjolras! Even his name belonged to that wonderful thing called passion. He was the sort of person who could capture your attention with a few words, who could stir your heart in only a few sentences. I, for one, had been instantly drawn to this man and his gift. People always wondered at his special talent with _words_. But, you see, I believe _that_ isn't the gift at all. I don't marvel at his words the way everyone else does. No, I marvel at his passion! It isn't the words that stir our hearts! It's the passion behind the words! Picture a man who was so gifted with words but lacked the passion. That is only one-half. But Enjolras was a whole, a man who had both!

I wanted Marius to see this fellow. I wanted him to see Enjolras' passion. But most of all, I wanted to amuse myself by watching how different the two would be. It turned out that they were very different indeed.

"Enjolras!" I called.

A tall man with a face sculptured out of marble turned to look at me. His lips were cold, grim lines, forbidding in their severity; his brow stern and arrogant; his eyes dark, deep pools in which dwelled composure and impatience, tranquility and passion, a peace that shined and a fire that could not be quenched in those shadowy waters.

This was Enjolras.

"Enjolras! This is Marius Pontmercy," I said, pulling the boy forward. "A student," I added, smiling.

"Welcome, Monsieur," was all he said and then he turned and began talking to Combeferre. I'm very good at deciphering, and I knew that Enjolras was, in fact, curious to know just who this young man was, but his method was that of observing before speaking. I knew that he would watch Marius from a distance and search for potential. And I knew that Marius Pontmercy had a potential for passion. I was sure of it.

"Hello!" said Joly happily, advancing towards us and addressing Marius. "I'm Joly, student of medicine! Good to meet you, dear fellow! Oh—don't shake my hand! Don't shake my hand!" he cried as Marius stretched out his hand to greet him, "I've a cold, you see. Nasty things! Don't want you to catch it!"

Smiling, I addressed Grantaire, who was sitting, melancholy, on a wooden chair: "Hey there! Aren't you going to welcome my new friend?"

He looked up at me and let out an empty laugh. "Welcome, friend! Welcome to this head-splitting hole! Here, I drink to you!" He lifted the bottle to his lips and fell backwards from the chair. He remained on the floor.

And then Combeferre stepped forward. "Monsieur, I am Combeferre. This is Jean Prouvaire, and this is Lesgles."

Marius shook hands, smiling.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Napoleon?" said Combeferre, and his eyes shone as his lips uttered the name.

"Of course!" and Marius' eyes shone too.

I stood watching. Marius would do very well here, I thought. He's got passion, and that's all he needs here.

Marius got on very well indeed. He was never absent during our meetings in the Café Musain. He listened with interest, and sometimes his eyes would shine, just like everyone else, as he read about our Heroes and their wars.

But one day, his eye did not shine, and worse than that, he was late. In all these few months he had never once been late! And now, the clock was ticking minutes! Minutes! And he was still not here!

Of course, no one really missed him. Why would they? They had their discussions on revolution, and that was the butter for their bread. They did not need anything else.

But while no one missed him, his absence did not go unnoticed. Enjolras himself was very impatient. Marius had won his, well, not admiration—Enjolras could not admire anything save his Patria—I suppose Marius had won his approval.

Finally, in the middle of a very stirring speech—so stirring, in fact, that I wouldn't have noticed he was here—Marius came in. The moment I clapped eyes on him, I could tell that this was not the same Marius. I myself have never experienced true love. Yes, my life is dull and sometimes it needs the company of women, but never more than just company. But true love—the kind you read in fairy tales and the like—that is something very different. It is the sort of love that leaves you filled, not empty.

I know a changed man when I see it, and Marius had experienced true love. I saw it.

"Marius, you're late," Enjolras chastised him, but Marius hardly seemed to notice. He was pale—oh! the color of one who is sick with love (although Joly always mistakes it for an ailment that is far more harmful)—and his eyes seemed distant and dreamy. He was in a transport.

"What's wrong, Marius?" said Joly. "Not sick, are you? It can't be! A ghost was it? Bad dream? No, no, not with that color," he muttered to himself and continued to murmur and mutter to himself while Marius shook his head and remained silent.

Grantaire laughed and stepped forward, slapping Marius' white cheek until it turned red like a blush and mock inspecting him. Then with the imitation of a physician's voice—intelligent and methodical—he said, "Hmm, oh dear oh dear." He shook his head and tssked. "Something very wrong with you, my poor little boy. I'm afraid you've come down with a bad case of love, Monsieur."

Marius' already red cheek turned scarlet, but before he could reply, Enjolras interrupted impatiently, with a tinge of annoyance (for the mention of a love other than that of a partisan for his enslaved country irritated him), "It is time for us now to decide _who_ we are. Come now! Are we now rich young dandies scrambling for a seat at the opera?" Using a few words he tinkered with the gears in our hearts, until we found ourselves far from the thoughts of mere young men who laughed at love and were merry all day long—he made us sober, silent, grave, proud; we were ready to fight the King himself when he was done with us!

Marius tried protesting, and his voice was beautiful with the passion of a lover. It was not at all like the beauty of Enjolras' passionate voice—no, that beauty stirred our hearts and infused in all of us overflowing strength and boldness. But this beauty, this beauty silenced us and made our minds thoughtful and our hearts peaceful.

I had always known Marius had a potential for passion. Have I not said it many times? And yet, now I stood dumbfounded, realizing that he had found his passion—his passion for, not patriotic love, but romantic love!

With this passion he silenced our teasing and mocking.

And then Enjolras began to speak, and we, like faithful followers, switched sides once more as our hearts sang for the Revolution!

"Red, a world about to dawn! Black! The night that ends at last!"

And then something happened. I was just sitting down, attempting to wake up that dead blockhead of a drunkard Grantaire. (Of course, he remained immobile and completely unaware that I was still trying to yell into his ear until he became deaf.) I looked around. Enjolras was talking to Combeferre when something really strange happened.

Marius' eyes, which had been very sleepy, fell upon a little shadow by the door. I looked in his direction. It was a girl. I turned back to Marius. He was hurrying now to her side when suddenly he tripped over Enjolras, who had stepped back. It was one of those unlucky moments where something happens that makes you wonder if it was coincidence or sheer accident. I decided at that moment that it was an accident.

The two went sprawling on the floor.

Enjolras stood up, his cheeks red, and Marius followed, an indignant expression gracing his face. And I watched, wondering if I should turn away or keep watching discreetly. I decided to turn away, and the odd thing was that when I looked away, I realized that no one had seen what had happened.

Combeferre was talking to Joly, and they were completely blind to the two men glaring at each other with red faces. Grantaire was asleep. Not a single person in this room, excluding Enjolras, Marius, and myself, had seen this peculiar incident.

What was so peculiar about it, you may ask? Two people had an accident. It is very normal. But here, listen! I turned inconspicuously and watched Enjolras and Marius.

Then out of Marius' lips came these angry, arrogant words: "Watch where you're going!"

And at the same time, Enjolras said timidly—yes! I said 'timidly'!—"Begging your pardon, Monsieur!"

Now, I am certain that arrogance was not one of Marius' traits, and I was very positive that at the time, Enjolras did _not_ possess humility—or fear, at least. Well! I thought to myself, something is very wrong indeed.

The two young men stared at each other in bewilderment. I'm sure I was wearing the exact same expression on my own face.

"What did you…" Enjolras' face began to say.

"What did you do!" cried Marius' face, and his black eyes—those eyes that were always quiet, thoughtful, dreamy—sparked.

"I didn't do anything," protested Enjolras' face, and Enjolras' hand rubbed his forehead. "I just fell… It's not my fault! You stepped back!"

"But what did you _do_!" cried Marius' face.

Suddenly Joly called from the other side of the room, "Marius! I need you! Combeferre says that my face _isn't_ abnormally pale, but _I_ think that it is! Come here, will you!"

Enjolras' body stepped forward, but Marius' arm stopped him, locking him in a steel grasp. I could tell that it was a very tight hold, judging by the sudden wheeze that Enjolras' lips let out.

Then Marius' face bent near Enjolras' ear and hissed sharply, "You're not Marius!"

"What?" cried Enjolras, "What are you talking about? I am M—"

"Outside! Now!"

Then Enjolras' lips stammered, "Oh! Just a minute! I mean—"

Joly and Combeferre stared at Enjolras, confused. "I was talking to Marius, Monsieur," said Joly apologetically.

"Ah, yes!" said Marius' face. "I have something very important to say to, ah, Enjolras. Your malady can wait!"

Then the two men stepped outside.

I sat back in my chair, thoughtful. These thoughts ran through my head: "_Better leave those chaps to themselves. It's an awfully embarrassing matter! Enjolras doesn't need this additional humiliation!" _Then I let out a satisfied sigh and made myself comfortable in my chair. Then my finger began to thump, and my shoe began to tap the floor gently. And then, of course, I muttered under my breath, "Oh, hang it all!" and hurried outside.

They were talking. I heard Marius, and oh! I'd better explain this to you so that my dear reader does not get confused. From now on, by "Marius" I mean Marius' body with Enjolras inside. By "Enjolras", I refer to Marius inside Enjolras' body.

As I was saying, they were talking. Well, rather, Marius was muttering and Enjolras was murmuring. There's a difference.

You see, Marius was very angry: "What have you done! What mischief is this?" He grabbed Enjolras by the shirt. "Well?"

"I, I don't know," said Enjolras helplessly. "But why am I staring at my own face?"

"We switched bodies, you dimwit!"

"I'm not a dimwit!" protested Enjolras.

"I will not speak to you."

"But you are speaking."

"Be quiet! I must think."

There was a pause. Suddenly Enjolras started and grabbed Marius by the arm. Marius released himself, fixed a stern, harsh look on Enjolras, and said with all the irritability and anger he could muster: "WHAT!"

Enjolras did not see the annoyed look on his companion's face. He only grasped Marius again and cried: "Oh! What am I to do?"

"What are _you_ to do? What am _I_ to do!" thundered Marius angrily.

"Oh," moaned Enjolras, "Oh my beloved! I'm lost! Oh my angel!"

"So you've finally realized the danger of the situation! I must say it took you a while."

"What am I to do, now that I wear this disgusting face!"

"Excuse me! I am right here! And _I_ have a revolution to take care of! I need my face back, if you please! I need my body! Lives count on me! And here I am, stuck in the body of a sick, dreamy, revolting lover!"

"Oh, who cares about you and your revolution!" cried Enjolras. "I need to find my beloved! She must know who I am! And you!" He threw an angry, red glance at Marius, "You have to do this for me!"

There were a few more heated arguments and fighting, and I was very curious and I couldn't help myself when I stepped forward from my hiding place and tried to act as peacemaker: "Now, now! We can settle this all without the bruises and fists and all that."

Both men gazed at me, astonished.

Finally Enjolras spoke: "You know what happened?"

"Yes, yes. I know as much as you do. I don't have a clue as to how this happened, and I don't know how to fix it all but I do know that there's a way out of this fighting and punching and arguments that will only make your lives more miserable."

"What do you suggest?" said Marius impatiently.

"I suggest," said I, "I suggest that you act the way you look!"

Enjolras stepped forward: "What do you mean?"

"I mean that since you look like Enjolras, you might as well _be _Enjolras, for a while at least. And _you_," I continued, addressing Marius and sighing, "have to act like the lover for a while, I'm afraid."

"What!" Marius looked at me, his face pale. And then white turned red, and red turned purple and then he burst: "What! I am NOT going to act like one of those DREAMY LOVESICK LOVERS!"

"Hush!" said I sternly. I realized that I actually had the courage to speak up against Enjolras, all because he was trapped inside Marius' vulnerable body. I almost laughed then. "You must! If you don't, your secret will be out, and when your secret is out, people will think you both have gone mad! And what's to become of your glorious revolution then? The people adore Enjolras; if you begin to accuse Marius of stealing your body, and vice-versa, your revolution is lost!"

"He's right, Enjolras," said Enjolras to Marius.

"Oh, don't call him that," I interrupted. "You must address him with your name from now on."

"What's to become of me?" moaned Marius.

"What's to become of _me_?" moaned Enjolras. "I'm the one forever separated from my beloved!"

Marius groaned. "And I am stuck with her!"

I put on a solemn face. I am a good person, dear reader, but I'm afraid that at that moment, I was bursting with laughter inside.


	2. Part Two: Scene One

Part Two: The Play

Scene One

"Now, _Marius, _you're going to have to how to play the lover," said I, smiling. The three of us were still standing outside the Café Musain, going over Marius' lines. We were rehearsing, you might say, the evening that Marius would have to spend with his pretty ghost. "You must be romantic," I continued, "Never talk unless asked a question by your _beloved. _Lovers find silence romantic—"

"Or awkward," muttered Marius, crossing his arms indignantly.

I paid no attention: "They love to look at each other and think and feel, drinking in that silence. So your role is simple, Monsieur. That is to say, if your—ahem, what's her name?"

"I've absolutely no idea," said Enjolras in a sigh, a dreamy smile altering those cold features. I held back a laugh.

"Fantastic," said Marius dryly, "You love a woman whose name you don't know. What am I supposed to call her? Beloved? Don't even think it! This is infidelity," he moaned. "I'm cheating on my Patria for _this_!" He gestured to his body.

"Beloved?" said I with a thoughtful smile, "That isn't bad at all! But really, a lover needs to know the name of his maiden. Ask her. And then remain silent and look at her with large, adoring eyes—Marius' eyes are perfect for that sort of thing—and then let her do the rest. Of course, you must act your part convincingly. Oh, don't worry, it isn't that bad. Besides, we'll be there the entire time, just behind the bushes."

Head held high and arms crossed, Marius declared arrogantly, "There is no sport in being one of those revolting lovers. No sport at all."

I laughed. "My dear Enjol—pardon! I mean, _Marius_, after tonight, you will find that acting the lover is not at all easy."

"Acting, yes!" cried Enjolras. "But _being_ in love! Being in love with the woman of your dreams and unable to woo her, because, because—ohhh!" He ended with a sigh. "This is a nightmare," he moaned.

"Stop complaining!" scoffed Marius, "_You _are the one responsible for this! It's all your fault that we're in this mess!"

"Oh, stop it, you two! Come on, let's get going!" I hurried forward, dragging Enjolras and Marius along with me. We walked and walked for a short while, and soon we found ourselves in a dark, quiet neighborhood. Perhaps it looked much better in daylight, but at the moment, it was frightfully dark. (I don't suppose I mentioned to the dear reader how much I hate the dark!) Curious, I whispered to Enjolras, "Is she rich?", and he, with another dramatic sigh, answered, "Oh, I don't care!"

Finally we came to the house. It was very small and—'quaint' came to my mind as I looked at its little brick chimney and tiny windows and little flowers blossoming in that pretty garden. All this would have looked very pretty. If it wasn't dark, of course…

Anyway, I spotted a little figure standing in the garden and whispered sharply, "Marius, go! She's waiting by the gate. We'll hide here!" I pulled Enjolras with me and together, we hid ourselves behind the bushes outside. And, as it was nighttime, our skin blended with the shrubbery in the dark.

We watched the play come to life.

Marius walked slowly, hesitantly, toward the gate, eyeing us nervously. I almost screamed: "Look at HER! Look at the GIRL!" As if he understood me, Marius cleared his throat and took quicker steps, determined to succeed.

The girl appeared by the gate, her pretty face illuminated by the moon. _ How romantic!_ I thought. But Marius ruined it with a formal bow and a single, grave word:

"Madam."

I stifled a laugh; Enjolras, beside me, groaned.

For a moment, the girl looked confused, and then she smiled and gave a pretty curtsey.

Marius hesitated before asking awkwardly, like a child reciting his verses, "May I ask for the beautiful lady's name?" The words sounded foreign on his tongue—I'm sure _I_ would have recited those lines beautifully.

"Cosette," she whispered.

"Ah," said he, his eyes wandering towards the bushes. Enjolras glowered, turning Marius' attention back to the girl. "Cosette," he began uncertainly, "Cosette, I don't know what to say."

"Then make no sound," she replied, smiling, much to Marius' relief. But then, she still looked expectantly at him, as if waiting for him to chirp his next verse in this strange love song. Marius darted an alarmed, very accusing glance toward our bushes that clearly said, "LOVERS LIKE SILENCE, EH?!"

His face turned cherry red; he looked as if he was about to burst, and I was already planning to pull him off the stage when the girl slipped a hand out of the gate and grasped his with an encouraging smile. Marius' face grew pale. Perhaps he had remembered what I'd advised back at the café, or perhaps his wits were flying apart at an alarming rate, but suddenly he stepped even closer and his already large eyes widened into enormous, round orbs. He looked like an owl on display.

I burst out laughing, and Enjolras had to clap his hand over my mouth and slap me hard to silence me. My vocal cords calmed down, but my shoulders were still shaking violently.

The girl, Cosette, now looked very confused as she stared at her lover and his large eyes.

I could tell that Marius was getting impatient. Seeing that his 'adoring-eyes-feat' was not working, he dropped the act and tried a new one. He took her other hand and smiled softly. It was working. I never knew that Enjolras could smile like that, but it sure was successful in drawing the girl in. She was falling for him.

"I am lost," said he dramatically. Yes, of course he was lost! He had no idea what he was doing!

But she chirped back, "I am found." It was all very amusing—of course, it was romantic, yes. The scene reminded me very much of two love birds sweetly singing their song. However, knowing that this 'Marius' was really Enjolras, the leader of the people, the lover of the country, the hater of women…

And yet, Cosette never seemed to notice how her lover was at times nervous and at other times plain irritated.

However, while things were going very well for Marius, Enjolras was steaming like a bull. His face was very, _very _red, and his hands were clenched into tight fists.

"Mar—I mean, Enjolras, what's wrong?" I whispered.

He didn't answer. He was seething with rage. "What is he doing!" roared the madman, stepping out of his hiding place. My heart leapt and I reached for him. Grabbing his arm, I yanked him back behind the bushes, hissing,

"What do you think you're doing!? You'll ruin it!"

I held his arm tightly, hoping that whatever madness had possessed him would die away. The light of the glowing moon fell upon his face, and I saw that, besides the ferocity of his eyes and the scowl that contorted his lips, his face was green! So! Poor 'Enjolras' was jealous, was he?

"If you don't stop this act, you'll ruin your lovelife! You really want to betray yourself?"

Enjolras hesitated, his chest heaving: "What do you mean?"

"I mean, _Monsieur_, that if you show up in all Enjolras' glory, then perhaps Cosette would fall in love with Enjolras and not you!"

"But—what?" spluttered Enjolras, "Cosette would never!"

"Well, Monsieur, you said that it was love at first sight, didn't you? She doesn't even know you yet! If what you say is true, then perhaps Cosette wouldn't mind falling in love a second time with another, much handsomer face."

Enjolras fumed, and I wasn't sure if it was because of my questioning of Cosette's faithfulness or because of my declaration of Enjolras' better looks.

"So behave yourself!" I conclued forcefully.

"Fine!" sulked Enjolras. He remained silent the rest of the evening, and I could tell he was nursing his anger by plotting against me. One dark night, when I'm sleeping…

I laughed softly but made a quick note to buy a guard dog.

Turning back to Marius to see how he was faring, I saw that the 'love song' was almost ending. Everything seemed to be going just fine when suddenly, much to my amazement, I heard someone whisper in a broken voice,

"He was never mine to lose."

Enjolras leapt when he heard the voice. "'Ponine?" he whispered incredously.

My eyes focused in the darkness on a small, crouching figure just a foot away from us. Hiding, just like us. And spying… just like us.

"Who's there?" came the cautious reply.

"It's me! Mar—" he wheezed (my elbow had landed on his stomach)—"Mar—ah, mademoiselle, it is… it is I! It is I, Enjolras!"

"Monsieur?" whispered the intruder, confused.

"Eponine, I am Marius Pontmercy's friend."

The girl's hand went to her face—I thought I saw something shimmer and disappear—and then she sniffed and turned to leave.

"Wait!" called Enjolras in a whisper. "'Ponine, what are you doing here?"

"Don't call me that," hissed the girl. "Only Monsieur Marius has that right." And then she was gone.

Enjolras, amazed, turned to me, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh dear," said I as solemnly, as sagely as I could. I nodded sadly to add effect. "Oh dear, how blind are the eyes of men! Some stand with one foot on shore, the other on land—but other men stand with both feet planted on the water without realizing who waits vainly on the shore."

"Courfeyrac!" interrupted Enjolras. "What's going on?"

"Marius, my friend," said I, "You have a little, faithful follower who loves you even though you love another."

Enjolras' eyes widened, his mouth hanging open. "Eponine… I never…"

"Yes," I continued, nodding wisely, "They never do." Then, leaving my friend with his new, surprising discovery, I turned to see how Marius was faring.

He looked just about ready to puke, really. No, I am not exaggerating. He looked me in the eye, completely wretched, and his face was sallow, his lips pressed tightly together.

His lover seemed completely oblivious.

"Help!" mouthed Marius. And then, to the girl, "Ahem, Cosette—" he paused, then said emphatically, "Cosette, _my love_, we must say our goodbyes and part. I really must be going."

"Marius?" said the girl, looking as if he had literally stabbed a knife into her heart.

It was a hopeless case. I knew that if Marius failed to finish his part of the deal, his revolution would be lost. Hands tightening into fists, face turning even sallower, eyes squeezing shut, Marius took a deep breath, planted a smOOCCH! on his beloved's lips, and turning, sped for the bushes.

Once safely out of her sight, he bent down and put his head between his knees, his chest heaving. "Safe!" he choked out, "Safe at last!" But he was terribly wrong. Enjolras, huffing and puffing and looking just about to burst, stormed towards Marius like a bull. There was a great crash (I looked on, not bothering to tear them apart) and Enjolras, punching and scratching, bellowed:

"How dare you kiss her! How dare you! How DARE YOU!"

"I didn't want to," gasped Marius, "Why would I want to kiss that… ugh!" He probably shivered at the thought, but I couldn't see him from behind Enjolras' large, powerful build.

"Don't call her that!" screamed Enjolras.

"I didn't call her anything!" retorted Marius disdainfully, pushing Marius away and smoothing his crumpled coat. "Ugh! A man like me has no time for women anyway! I kept my part of the deal! It's your turn now!"

At this point, I decided to intervene. "Ahem, gentlemen! Please, behave yourselves. I do believe Enjol—eh, Marius, has a point. He has played the faithful lover. Enjolras, he has saved you."

Enjolras scowled. "But—"

"No, no," said I, feeling very much like a parent with his two quarelling children, "No buts. Marius didn't want to do what he did."

"Ohh, fine!" said Enjolras, pulling on a despondent face. "My beloved!" he mourned, "That should have been my triumph! Mine!"

"Oh, the silly nincompoop!" muttered Marius scornfully. "Goodnight, Courfeyrac." I murmured goodnight and turned to my apartment, much amused with this interesting night. How would Enjolras fare tomorrow, with all the Friends of the ABC at his feet? I laughed. Oh, no wonder my mother named me Etienne!

**Thank you for the reviews! Much appreciated! Kudos to JB for editing and advice! **


	3. Part Two: Scene Two

Part Two: The Play

Scene Two

I woke up the next morning to the chilling cry of a terrified, petrified, horrified young man. The fact that I live alone in my little apartment may frighten the reader—could it be that ghosts had invaded the privacy of my room?—but no, be assured that the cry came from my very throat.

Why? Why was I terrified, petrified, horrified?

Because, my dear reader, as I have mentioned before, I live alone in my little apartment. I have lived by myself for years, since the day I set out fresh from a mother's care! My father taught me how to be independent, and I have found a use for it. However, this is no reason to use my powerful lungs. (Did I mention how wonderful my voice is? Indeed, many have deemed it 'angelic'.) So why did I let out a chilling cry the next morning? We come to the point at last.

The moment I opened my eyes, I saw in front of me a young man.

Now, it must be explained to the reader that I sleep on my stomach. It must also be declared that most of the time I find myself slipping off the bed in the morning. This explains why I ice my forehead so frequently as I sit listening in the Café Musain. Thus, when I opened my eyes that morning, my head was in the perfect position to see, the moment my eyelids struggled to lift, a young man lying down on the floor next to my mattress.

At this point, I screamed and fell out of my bed.

The young man (it was really Enjolras, but in my terror, I did not recognize him) immediately shot off the floor, bumping his head on my side table in the process.

I screamed out once more, but this time it was a threat. I leapt to my feet, grabbed my pillow—there was really nothing else within my reach—and began punching the air with my new weapon.

"Wait—" the intruder began.

I aimed wonderfully and stuffed his mouth with feathers.

He spit them out, crying, "Stop!"

"Get-out-of-my-room!" I screamed, thrashing my pillow about between words. Poor Enjolras. Any stranger would have thought me a madman, with my red face, puffing cheeks, and perilous pillow.

"Courfeyrac, it's me!" cried the intruder, "It's me, Marius!"

My cheeks, already ruddy from excitement, turned the bright color of cherries as I looked, recognized, and dropped my weapon. "Ah," said I, clearing my throat, "So it is! So sorry, dear fellow! You almost gave me a heart attack there!" Then, eager to change the subject, I pointed out, "_Enjolras_, you know. You should remember to call yourself that for now."

With a start, Enjolras rushed to my little mirror and moaned. "Ohh! It wasn't a dream then!"

"No," I said matter-of-factly, "It can't be. Even if it wasn't real, it wouldn't be a dream. At least, for you it would be a nightmare, really. But 'dream' works well enough for me. Anyway, stop moaning at that mirror and explain to me what you're doing in my apartment!"

"Really, Monsieur, there's no need to get angry! I was just on my way to my little room, the one you gave me, but the door was locked. I knocked but Enjol—I mean, Marius was there and he laughed at me and wouldn't let me in. It really was awful of him, and—"

At this point I sighed and interrupted, "He was doing the right thing, you know. If Combeferre or some other friend knocked on Monsieur Pontmercy's door and found a sleepy Enjolras, that would be very strange indeed. It would be even worse if, being sleepy, you answered in the name of Marius! That would be called bonkers, you know."

Enjolras stared at me crossly and rubbed his forehead. "Well, alright! Anyway, I didn't know the way to Enjol—I mean, _my _apartment, so I went to yours."

"Enough explaining," said I, jumping up, "We've got to get you to the others. Enjolras, late? Absolutely unheard of! Now, I'm going to go and pick up some fresh clothes. You can get yourself ready. Oh, and bring some ice, will you? I bumped my head quite hard when I fell."

We parted ways for a while, planning to meet at the Café Musain. When I arrived, everyone was already there. A large crowd filled the outside of the café, sometimes buzzing loudly and sometimes hushing into dead silence.

"Don't you understand?" someone was saying. "Who will help them, if not us? Who will be their voice, if not us? Who will tell the King that the majority of his subjects starve on the streets, if not us? The people need rights! They need voices! But who will be their voice when they cannot speak? We will give them their voices! We will give them their rights! We, the Friends of the ABC, must show the King that justice is needed, justice and equality and freedom for all! Who…"

I listened, startled. I knew that voice. Who wouldn't? It belonged to the man who was quiet, uncertain, and hopelessly in love. But now it sounded so different! Now it was the cry of passion, certainty, and even pride!

I pushed my way through the crowd and stopped, my jaw hanging open two inches wide. There, in front of me, was Marius, standing on a table that was carried outside and crying out, "Revolution!" with his stirring words.

(Have I not always told the reader how passion is so important in speech? Here stands Marius, the bashful young man, now speaking to a crowd and stirring their hearts!)

I did not think. I simply walked straight up to the table, hauled Marius down, and hissed, "Don't attract attention to yourself! Let Enjolras do the talking!"

"Oh, good morning, Courfeyrac," said Marius, acknowledging my presence with a slight nod. "I'm in the middle of a speech at the moment, Monsieur."

"Stop that!_ Marius_!" I cried, "Let's go inside, shall we? Hmm?" And I grabbed him by the ear and hauled him inside, shutting the door with a loud bang!

We were greeted with bright, expectant faces.

"Late, Enjolras! Even Marius was here already! Marius, the lover! Marius the slow and dreamy!" cried Grantaire, stumbling forward, "Need I say more?" He sank to the ground in a fit of hysterics.

"How insulting!" raged Enjolras. "You know," said he emphatically, "I've only been late once in my life, and that was because, unlike the rest of you fools, I have a woman who actually cares about—"

"Aahh!" I butt in nervously, "Ah, I think I saw a… a monstrous—it was very large!"

Everyone turned to me, and Enjolras' little error was forgotten as they stared at me with large, unblinking eyes. I was not at all relieved.

"A what?" said Joly, cocking his head.

"Ahem, eh, you know. Those, those little creatures, the, erm, the grey ones that…" My brain was not functioning properly at the moment. I am hopeless, aren't I? "They eat orange pieces, nibbles, really… A… a—"

"A rat?" offered Marius in a bored voice. "Shall we get on with business?"

Combeferre stepped forward, "Ah yes! Enjolras, have you forgotten?"

"Ah, erm, forgotten?" Enjolras fidgeted, playing with his fingers.

"Your speech? You did bring your papers, didn't you? Why, you worked so hard on that only a few nights ago!" He looked positively shocked.

Marius smirked. "Oh, I brought them," said he artfully. "Here they are, _Enjolras_. You must give us the speech!"

I began protesting immediately, knowing something was terribly wrong, but Enjolras probably got it into his thick skull that this was his chance to prove his worth to me, to show me that the real Enjolras was not really gifted. After all, how hard could giving a speech be?

The Friends gathered around him—I stood at the back, moaning softly—and I could see Marius way in front, chuckling quietly. There was something very ominous in his laugh, and in his eyes sparked revenge. Revenge? For what? Perhaps, and, dear reader, I only say perhaps, it was retribution for a kiss.

Enjolras, smoothing out the papers in front of him, eyed the crowd of familiar faces nervously. He cleared his throat and shifted his attention to the papers. Suddenly his eyes bulged—yes! They bulged like a gasping fish out of water and his face turned green and he looked exactly like Marius did the other day when he was about to give Cosette a fairwell 'token of love'.

Marius' smile was widening slowly.

Enjolras threw him a look so very full of wrath, but I believe I saw Marius shrug. "Ahem," began Enjolras, "So, the people. Yes! The people! We are, erm, fighting for the lives of the people! Yes, and we all know why…"

I will not give you the rest of the speech. You must forgive me, but I cannot bear to relate the details. I will give you an account of what followed.

Everyone but Enjolras, Marius, and I were left in the room. Enjolras sat in a chair, miserable. Besides the bump on his forehead that he had gotten earlier this morning, there were several other bruises on his arms and cheek. He had gotten into a fistfight with Marius earlier, you see.

"Oh, you've ruined me!" moaned Enjolras.

But I was giving Marius a lecture: "What have you done! You have just ruined your own reputation! It may take you months, even years, to gain back what honor you have left! Just think! People will mock you. Even worse, they might find it hard to give their hands into a man who doesn't know what he's doing!"

"Oh, stop it!" scoffed Marius. "Do you think one silly speech will sway them from the solid trust they have in me? Besides, _he_,"—jutting a finger towards Enjolras—"should suffer as I have suffered."

"You! You!" Enjolras stood up, his face thunder and rain. "You kissed my beloved!" he shrieked. "How is that torture!? But humiliation! Embarrasment! Oh, it gives me pleasure to think that this body will forever feel this shame! Not me! NO, when I'm back to my normal self, YOU will be the one humiliated!"

"Monsieur, it is not that bad," said Marius coldly. "You exaggerate with your drama."

I did not bother to hear the rest of the argument. Instead, because of curiosity—curiousity, dear reader, is what got me into this tangle in the first place—I tiptoed slowly towards the table where Enjolras had given his lecture, turned over the first page of the speech, and stole a glimpse.

What I saw made my hand fly to my mouth and my shoulders shake uncontrollably. There, in big letters, were these following words:

"THE KISS OF COSETTE IS A SWEET LITTLE THING,

I SIGH AS I WAIT FOR THE NEXT ONE THIS SPRING!"

And I, dear reader, am an honorable man.

**Hello again! Thank you for the reviews! I'm rather disappointed with this chapter—I'm sorry if it's a bit vague and not very funny. As for E/E, yes. I think I'll give it a go. You can expect some in the next chapter, but it might be odd because it's Enjolras inside Marius. Thanks! HOpe you enjoyed! :D**


	4. Part Three: Scene One

**This chapter will take on a more serious tone, I'm afraid, as Courfeyrac explores the idea of love. I'm sorry if it's disappointing. Please bear with me. (This isn't the last chapter yet.) But thank you so much for the reviews! I dearly love to laugh, but I love making people laugh even more! :D**

Part Three – The Climax

Scene One: In Which Courfeyrac's Game Is Ruined

We come close to the ending of this story, good reader. Oh, but not to worry. There is a particular part in this play that I dearly wish to tell you, one that has greatly touched my heart. It is, in fact, one of true love.

I have always believed in true love. Rather odd, isn't it? A grown-up man like me! But after living in Paris for years, my faith in fairy tales began to wane. While I kept true to the idea, I began to forget what love really was! Well, this piece of history gave me all the information I needed to know about it, and all the inspiration too! Therefore sit back and relax, my friend, for it's a rather long story!

We were still sitting, melancholy, in the Café Musain. I must admit, I was beginning to tire of my little game.

"Oh," sighed Enjolras, "Every second away from my Cosette marks off a year of my poor life. To have only an hour to learn her name, and the rest to ponder over her. 'Tis so unfair, life."

"So says the tragedian," muttered Marius. "But tell me, poet! Why would a man love someone he does not even know?"

"She is beautiful! She is a goddess! Fair, divine!" cried Enjolras in what sounded like a desperate cry.

"All shall fade away," was the response.

I sat back in my chair with a determination to enjoy myself.

"All shall fade away, say you? Then the poor man will fade away. The rich man will fade away," retorted Enjolras, "If everyone dies, what's the purpose of the so-said rights for the people? The King will die with the peasant—there's your justice."

"Death is justice, yes. And yet so is equality. I seek justice. Therefore I acknowledge death, but I also seek a life of liberty. I do not despise relationships. But is it even a relationship to love a woman you do not know? In the same why, I must learn about my country before I can love it and fight for it."

"Hmph!" huffed Enjolras. "Well, she is my light in a world of darkness. I only wish to further the relationship. I only wish to know her. And that is why you're ruining me! Because my chance of knowing her decreases as seconds pass and I still sit inside this horrid body! Look at these useless arms! Never will they carry a little babe!"

"I will not have you insulting my body!" said Marius sharply.

"Look at this!" continued Enjolras mockingly, "These eyes have never seen the beauty of a woman! These hands have never written a ballad! And worst of all, this heart has never learned to love."

Marius' face was an island in the middle of a storm, clouds hovering over the trees. He was about to retort something insulting when the door burst open and a girl, the girl whose name was Eponine, entered the room.

We gazed at her, astonished.

"Monsieur," she said curtly, addressing Marius and not minding Enjolras and me. "I have a letter. From your grandfather."

Marius stared at her, uncomprehending. "Mademoiselle, I don't…" He looked at me, and seeing my threatening gaze, seemed to realize that Pontmercy was good friends with this little gamine. He turned back to her and replied, "Ah, yes. Won't you sit down?"

He offered her a seat, which she took with a bewildered gaze. "Monsieur?" said she uncertainly. She seemed unaccustomed to such polite gestures.

As I gazed upon Marius, I saw something change in him. A light seemed to dawn over his features, and understanding flickered in his eye. I knew what he saw. He saw his Patria in this one, bewildered girl who had never known such kindness in her miserable life. And such kindness! Only a little, polite gesture and she was hesitant, embarrassed, bewildered!

When Marius spoke again, his voice was kind, "Mademoiselle—"

"Why do you call me that, Monsieur?" she interrupted, grinning. "Suddenly a gentleman?" She was teasing now, but I thought I saw a change in her too. At first she had been bewildered at this new kindness. But now there seemed to be a wistful yearning in her expression, as if she wished to hear just one more little word of thoughtful kindness.

He smiled slightly, "But you must call me En—ahem, Marius."

"Marius," she repeated slowly. How strange it was that the name seemed unfamiliar on her tongue! Hadn't the two been friends for months, perhaps years? And yet now that she had this permission to address him by his baptized name, a joyful light seemed to dawn upon her face.

I saw Marius looking at her sympathetically.

What happened after I do not know, for I grabbed Enjolras by the hand and stepped out of the café with an idea in mind. When we came back, we saw Marius still talking to the girl.

They seemed engrossed in their conversation. I heard the words "justice" and "the people", so it was no surprise for me to see "Marius" so absorbed in the conversation. But the girl! Perhaps she too had a love for our Patria. Perhaps she too longed for justice, and more than that, compassion. And I knew Enjolras—even in the body of another man—still had a heart of compassion. For he had not started these rallies out of admiration of Napoleon or the French Revolution. No. I knew that when he said in eloquent words that he fought for the people, those eloquent words were made beautiful for the truth shining upon them.

The girl, Eponine, glanced up as the door opened, and Marius, following her gaze, saw us standing by the door and said something to the girl.

Then he read the letter quickly and wrote a reply on its back. (Don't ask me, dear reader, what in the world Marius would say to a grandfather he hardly knew.) "Will you give this to him please?" I heard him say. And then, "Here, take this too." Something clinked in his hand.

"Monsieur I cannot! I am not a beggar!" said she arrogantly.

He looked just as stubborn as he thrust the coins into her hand, saying, "And I am not a gentleman."

I thought I saw a small smile on her face as she left.

"What did you talk about?" I asked, stepping forward when she was gone.

"Life," was the short reply.

"Well?" I urged.

But he had turned to Enjolras, a threatening look in his eye. "You treat her like a dog, don't you!" said he.

"What?" answered Enjolras, bewildered.

"She starts whenever I say something thoughtful! She calls me 'Monsieur' out of habit and whenever I say something kind, she looks as if I had turned into a madman!"

"I never noticed—" began Enjolras defensively.

"That's it!" raged Marius. "That's it! You never notice her! The poor girl! And even when she's head over heels for you! If I were you, I would return her love! In the few minutes that I spoke with her,"—I must interrupt here and say that it was actually an hour and a half that Enjolras and I had been gone—"… in the few minutes that I spoke with her, I learned that she is a bold young girl who faces her horrible circumstances with the courage of a lion! She's twice the girl Cosette is and I'd love her—"

"Love who?!"

It was not Enjolras who had said that, nor Marius, nor even I. In fact, it was Cosette herself. You see, my plan was to bring the mademoiselle here. I can imagine the expression on my dear reader's face. Don't look at me like that, friend. I was experimenting. That is all.

"Cosette!" cried Enjolras. "My belove—"

He let out a tiny wheeze and was silent. I need not explain that Enjolras' brainless impulses were beginning to irritate me immensely.

She turned to look at him for a moment, but her gaze returned quickly to Marius, a gaze made of two, large, blue eyes filled with all the pain in the world. If you have ever experienced looking into the eyes of a crying lamb (which is very rare, I must say), or perhaps even that of a weeping cat (which is also very rare), you will know what Cosette looked like at that moment. Even I was filled with heartache and was beginning to doubt my experiments.

"I trusted you," she choked. Then her hand grasped the shoulder of a chair, as if to steady herself.

Marius looked bewildered, "Madame, I…"

"Why do you call me that?" she cried out, "Why do you say, 'Madame'? Am I a stranger that you address me thus?"

He interrupted her bluntly, "But strictly speaking you are a stranger to me." I groaned; she was staring at him with horror-stricken eyes.

I admit that at the moment I was quite impressed with the girl. The gamine, Eponine, I admired for her strength, her courage, even her blunt manners. But Cosette was now holding herself up with pride; if I were her—and thank heavens I am not!—I would be sobbing and wiping my little tears with a handkerchief. Her face was pale, and she looked as if she was about to fall—yet still she stood firm. "I don't know who you are!" she said in a low, intense voice.

"That day I saw you in the market, I saw a young man who was at that moment pouring his heart out for the people. I saw a man who was courageous, but that did not hide his tender heart! I saw a man who sang of battle and death, but that did not hide his compassion! I loved him for all of these! And when he looked at me, I thought he loved me too."

The next words were full of bitterness, "But my papa was right. It is easy to mistake a person for someone he is not, judging only by his appearance, and not by his heart."

Marius seemed awed by this sudden outburst. I knew that this sudden admiration would not last, for Marius—or shall I say, Enjolras—did not have a place for a rich woman in his heart, no matter how noble she was. His was a heart for the poor, for the neglected, for the miserable.

But Enjolras' face was one of complete agony. In a split-second he had taken possession of her hand and was saying gently,

"Please don't cry! Did you really think that of me? I do love you! Ever since my eyes met yours I did!"

She blinked at him, perplexed. Perhaps she was thinking, "Oh dear, here's a madman!" That was the effect Enjolras had on me at that moment, but Cosette didn't seem to mind. Perhaps she saw the tenderness in Enjolras that she had first seen in Marius. Isn't that why she loved him in the first place? I am not omniscient, dear reader.

She answered him just as softly, "I thought that of him, yes. I thought he loved me."

"Dearest heart, I do!" cried the other. He hesitated, then spoke shyly—and at that moment you could tell that this certainly was the old Marius, even in Enjolras' body:

"Did you really think that of me? Really? I… I never thought that of myself. My father—he was a soldier at Waterloo. And I hoped I could be like him, strong and brave and dashing. But I have no way with words. With a sword I am useless. With words the crowd jeers at me or falls, snoring, at my feet.

But I do love you. With all my heart I do. And I want to know what your favorite color is. I want to know what makes you happy and what makes you sad! I want to know where your heart is."

Cosette was smiling. "It seems you have found your passion, Monsieur. Speak to the crowd as you speak to me now, and you will find them worshipping you."

He blushed: "Do you think so?"

Dear reader, I could not bear to hear anymore. Enjolras was speaking to Cosette; Marius was speaking to a returned Eponine. My little game was entirely ruined! What would happen now? Now that two women were completely in love with two men who were not as they seemed!

I must admit that this was not the only reason for my growing pain. Not only was my game ruined! My heart was tearing apart! I don't exaggerate! Would you feel any different, if you saw your two good friends with the women they love? And you are all alone.

I have never felt true love. Courfeyrac—the flirt, the optimistic, the clever—had never known what it felt like to truly love and be loved.

As I realized this, my heart finally split asunder.

This is not the end, good reader. This is only the beginning of the end. It is the beginning of my little Part Three.

**Erm, I'm sorry. I wanted to make another humorous chapter and ended up with a totally dramatic and 'lovey-dovey' one. Oh well. I can only hope you enjoyed it! By the way, it turns out this story will be a bit longer than I thought! :D **


	5. Part Three: Scene Two

Part Three – The Climax

Scene Two: In Which Courfeyrac Learns Something Of True Love

Events flew swiftly that day. Enjolras took Cosette for a walk—I watched as he led her away with tender gaze and quiet voice—and left me with those two radicals who spoke to each other with the same quiet joy. Marius' eyes never left Eponine's face. He seemed fixated on her every word, his eyebrow lifting whenever he caught an error in her argument. He almost seemed exultant whenever he won some sort of debate.

But oh, pity me! There I sat, alone, and those two nincompoop men—yes, Enjolras in Marius' body was now also a nincompoop—hardly even noticed their poor, loyal friend. Marius ranted away about "the people" and "the people" and "the people", and I can't comprehend why the girl looked so earnestly interested. I snored the majority of the time.

And Enjolras had either forgotten to bring his pocket watch or lost track of time in his "spending time with my beloved".

So dear reader, pity me. For my friends have betrayed me to loneliness.

Lunch passed. I munched an apple furiously, looming over Marius and Eponine like a menacing storm. They didn't notice me, unfortunately…

Then the afternoon arrived. I was still nibbling away desperately, this time at a piece of cheese. At last the girl seemed to realize it was getting dark.

"Monsieur, I must go! Maman will be worried—and… and Papa will…"

He looked at her anxiously. "Will you be all right? Shall I walk you to your home?"

But she refused his gallant offers—oh! how I sighed with relief then!—and left the café in a rush. Marius watched, his face unreadable. And then Enjolras entered—and, really, I was positively intoxicated with joy at this: without Cosette!

Oh, what a happy man I was! Actually, dear reader, I was bordering utter despair.

"Enjolras!" said I, stumbling forward, "Got rid of the lady at last, did you?" I snorted, not waiting for an answer, "Good! We're alone! Finally just the three of us! The three good ol' gents! No ladies! No females!"

"Courfeyrac, are you ill?" began Marius, taking hold of me.

"What? Ill? Of course not!" I laughed. "Why on earth would I be ill?"

The two of them still didn't seem convinced. "Perhaps Joly will know…"

"Oh no, there's no need for that," I protested, stumbling towards a chair. "I'm fine, really!" Tears were beginning to blur my vision; I cannot deny that these were unmanly tears. My cheeks felt hot. "Perfectly, utterly fine!"

The two men glanced at each other quickly.

Finally, I convinced them that I was _not_ ill and that, it being June, I was having a very irritating encounter with hay fever. "Itchy nose and watery eyes," said I. Then I slumped in my chair and attempted to look entranced with a piece of napkin.

Marius moved to another table close by and sat down. He began speaking to Enjolras, and what I heard was this (I hope I recount these details correctly… my hayfever was terrible at the moment, you see, and I blew my nose multiple times):

Said Marius grimly, "Mar—Enjolras, will you sit down?"

"Oh! If you wish it, Monsieur." He sat down accordingly.

"May I ask you something?"

"If you wish it," was the timid reply.

"What does it feel like? Being in love, I mean." (Here I blew my nose very loudly.)

Enjolras shrugged. "You want to know everything about her. What gives her pain gives you pain. When you fight, you feel miserable afterwards. You want her to be happy all the time, even though you know it's not possible. You want to protect her. Spending time with her gives you joy…"

Marius said nothing for a while. And then, after a hesitant pause, "I think I'm in love." (Again, I blew my nose with a vengeance.)

Astonished, Enjolras stared at him. "You? In love?"

Marius nodded. "I want to know everything about her. I want to help her. And protect her from the evils of this world. I want to fight for her. If I have to, then I'll die doing it. It's the same love I have for France. Isn't it love?"

Enjolras smiled. "That's love."

Tears were overflowing down my cheeks by now. "So beautiful!" I choked out. My heart ached more than ever. When they turned to look at me, I cleared my throat and said quickly, "Horrid, really! Someone shut the window. The pollen is unbearable!"

They shrugged and continued on with their sober talk.

Marius was really red now as he said: "I suppose… I suppose love is not all a silly game…"

Enjolras blushed slightly. "And I realize how important your revolution really is. It isn't just rights, is it? It begins with something else. Cosette showed me what it was… I finally understand. It's love. Love for the people. I suppose _I_ never realized that your love for France was not so different from mine."

As he said these words, something happened. I'm afraid I was still blowing away, so I did not witness this miraculous thing. But I felt the ground beneath my feet tremble, and Enjolras and Marius were rubbing their heads furiously.

"Who did that?" demanded Enjolras.

"What?"

"You hit me!" said Enjolras angrily. "Again!"

"I didn't," protested Marius, "I didn't!"

I watched, agape. "Enjolras! Marius!"

They looked at me expectantly.

"You're Enjolras!"

Enjolras blinked. "Yes. Why?"

"And you're Marius!"

Marius blinked. "Ah, yes. Why, Courfeyrac, what's the matter?"

At last it dawned upon these fools that they had returned to their normal states. Enjolras was once more his handsome self. Marius was once more his… erm, as he had been before.

I expected rejoicing and manly tears and relief, but instead I got quite the opposite.

"Oh!" mourned Marius. "Oh, my Cosette will not love me! She's fallen in love with you! Why, oh, why did this have to happen!?"

Enjolras looked just as grim. "And… Eponine will not know me." I saw pain in his eyes, as he realized this slowly: "She has never known me. She's only known you. Marius Pontmercy. The man she loves."

I turned away and stared at the rain that had begun to pour. At that moment, my thoughts were flying apart. _Perhaps true love does not exist. Perhaps love is a messy affair that tears people apart rather than bringing them together. Love gives joy. But from what I've seen, it only takes that joy away afterwards. Perhaps true love is not a worthy experience. _

That's what I was thinking. But the next morning—wait! I must inform the reader that we spent the entire twenty-four hours in the café, mourning. If the dear reader is wondering what in the world I was mourning about, since I had neither gained nor lost anything, I will tell you.

I grieved because it was raining and, it being a storm out there, I was stuck with these nincompoops. Yes. That's why I was mourning. Friend, I am an honorable man.

But the next morning, something made my thoughts fly apart once more. In bounced Cosette, searching for Enjolras. And in stole Eponine, her dark brown eyes looking round for a familiar face.

The two men took possession of their lovers—meaning, Enjolras with Eponine and Marius with Cosette—and this is what they said.

From Enjolras to a very bewildered Eponine: "Yesterday, when you were speaking to Marius… that was me. I know you've no idea who I am, save perhaps that I'm a fool who is leading the people to their deaths. But yesterday, we argued about it and I told you that I love the people. I love the brave, miserable people of France who suffer day by day. And all I want to do is protect them. I told you that. I told you that since you are a citizen of France, you represent the people.

I hope you believe me. All I want is to continue talking to you. Today, and tomorrow, and perhaps forever, if you will."

The words poured forth from his mouth in complete earnesty, although after realizing that he held her hand, he dropped it with a red face.

Eponine seemed confused; she hesitated, and then said, "What of womens' rights? What say you to that?"

He smiled, they sat down, and, I must confess, I didn't bother to hear anymore.

From Marius to a hesitant Cosette: "Yesterday, when you were speaking to Enjolras… that was me. I'm so sorry that I hurt you. In all honesty, it was unintentional. I love you. I really do. From the day I found out your name was Cosette."

The same thing happened. She gazed at him, perplexed, and then said slowly, "I told you yesterday what I love most in the world. What was that?"

He smiled, offered her his arm, and they walked out the door as he whispered something into her ear.

And again, I didn't bother to hear what it was. I had realized something, dear friend. I had realized something about true love. It did give pain. It gives joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain. But one thing was certain. True love does not count on mere appearance. It is something like cohesion. Despite changes, tensions—even those that are painful—true love never dies.

**Thank you for the reviews! I think there will be one or two more scenes. Hope you enjoyed! :D**


	6. Part Four

Part Four – The Curtain Call

"And _that_ is where our story ends," conclued Courfeyrac.

"What? That can't be all of it!" protested the child who sat comfortably on the throne of Courfeyrac's lap. "What happened afterwards? What's the end?"

Courfeyrac laughed. "Well, you might want to ask your sister about that."

Willingly, the child turned to the quiet girl who sat on the table opposite him. "Well, 'Ponine?"

"Well what?"

"_Well_, what happens after you fall in love with Enjolras? What's the real ending?"

Eponine laughed, stooping down to pick a particularly naughty little handkerchief from the floor. "Ask Enjolras," she replied shortly in a roundabout manner.

"Well?" said the boy, turning to interrogate the next person.

Enjolras chuckled under his breath. "The story never really ends, Gavroche. But if you want an account of what happened afterwards, then I'll give you a brief history lesson. We started the June Rebellion shortly afterwards. Marius disappeared—I found out later that he'd been rescued and he's with Cosette now. During the fight at the barricade, Eponine and I got separated. I thought she was dead. She thought I was dead. But only a few months later, we found each other again. Like Courfeyrac puts it, truly love never dies."

"Oh, that's boring. Courfeyrac tells stories much better than you do, Enjolras."

Enjolras laughed and Eponine looked up tenderly into the blue sea of his eyes.

"What makes you think Courfeyrac's story is just a story? It could be true," said the young man. When the little urchin frowned and looked at him closely, Enjolras' face was all innocence. Without waiting for an answer, he took Eponine by the hand and they exited the Café Musain, smiling and whispering to each other.

Still waiting for an answer, the child turned expectantly back to Courfeyrac, who held him like a man holding his younger brother. "Well?" he said.

Courfeyrac laughed. "Gavroche, it's just a story!"

Unconvinced, the boy frowned. "No, I don't think so."

"Well, it's up to you to decide if you want to believe me or not."

"Please, please tell me!" begged Gavroche. Seeing that his grovelling failed to move the determined Courfeyrac, the mischevious urchin turned to threats: "Or I shan't sit on your lap anymore. You know how I hate it anyway. I like to run about and be free, you know."

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow.

Gavroche had one more card to play: "I'll tell Marius that you told me the whole story and all the names you called him in your head when he was in Enjolras' body."

At this Courfeyrac gave in immediately. "Very well then, you little imp! It's a true story. But don't tell Enjolras and Marius. They don't like being reminded of the embarrasing incident. They might tell you otherwise, but believe me, it's true."

"Where's your proof?" demanded the child.

"Haven't you noticed that Enjolras is always uneasy whenever Cosette is around? It isn't because he dislikes her. It's because of what happened. And haven't you realized that Marius is always fidgety whenever he has to give a speech to even the smallest crowd? He turns green like a frog! Again, because of what happened."

Gavroche laughed.

"Well, run along then! I told you the story so go and do whatever it is that you do best!" Courfeyrac rumpled the boy's messy hair and off the child went, singing and hollering and laughing without a care in the world.

Courfeyrac looked on, shaking his head and laughing.

_Dear reader,_

_It has been almost a year since the 'incident', or, as I like to call it, the Change of Bodies. _

_Eponine is now Madame Enjolras—how droll it sounds, doesn't it?—but you'll get nothing out of me as to how it all happened. You'll have to ask Enjolras, but that will be a very daunting task. He has changed much since the time of the barricade, for both the better and the worse. You see, there are times when he falls into a state of depression—ugh! he is a very boring, self-pitying nincompoop on those days (Grantaire and the rest of them would not approve, I'm sure)—but he seems much happier than before, now that Eponine is his beloved wife. _

_If you get nothing out of Enjolras about how he proposed and all those sentimental details (he's so formidable sometimes—especially in that body), you can always try Eponine. But let me just warn you that after becoming very good friends with Madame Pontmercy, her mind's been infected with an unhealthy dose of the romantic. The version she gives you might be a little too full of sappy love and white weddings and how handsome Enjolras looked and this and that… the details she'll give you are really endless! So maybe you shouldn't count on her._

_Try Marius and you'll end up feeling recklessly desperate. Once a woman asked him for the details of Enjolras' wedding and she ended up wringing his neck. He gives none of the good details that people want to hear! If Eponine now gives the overly romantic aspects, Marius is still the same as always: the bone-dry fellow who sees only black and white. His has always been a world lacking in color. Except for Cosette, that is. _

_Actually, Cosette would be the best choice. After meeting Eponine, she's become much more sensible really. More quiet than before, less sappy. Hmmm…_

_I'm beginning to sense a pattern here, dear reader. Recently Enjolras has been acting annoyed. Strange really. And Cosette is sensible! And Eponine is sappy! Is it happening again? A second Change of Bodies, perhaps? How strange! _

_As for me, I am still the same as ever. Except I am less lonely. For now I have my beloved Azelma. But if I continue talking of her, I will find myself going on and on about her beauty, her loveliness, her goodness… Oh dear, it's started! Well, I have found my own true love. That is that. I know now why my mother named me Etienne. For I am the crowned one. I have four limbs intact, my head and eyes and nose, and though I still eat bread and water for breakfast and bread and water for dinner and bread and water for supper, I have four loyal friends and a woman who loves me dearly and whom I dearly love. _

_And how can you be sure that all I have told you is true? Well! Good friend, haven't I told you? Etienne Courfeyrac is an honorable man._

**The End! If you want to write a story about Courfeyrac and Azelma, or maybe the switch between Eponine and Cosette, go ahead! As for me, I have two goals: to please myself and to please you, dear reader. I can cross out the first; can I cross out the second? I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! :D**


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